Steel and Gingerbread
by Midnight Mouse
Summary: Cael was abandoned as a child, and as a child she was delivered to the DeMarcos' front door with a handgun with green detailing. She wasn't normal from the first day, then she had to go and get into that little yellow and black rusty.
1. The Yellow Rusty

**-1-**

**The Yellow Rusty**

When the sun sets, the lake captures the golds and oranges and reds of the sky, and the ripples of the water mixes the colors. It was a hypnotizing sight, and I loved sitting on my blanket, just watching as colors appeared and disappeared. I would normal hug my legs to myself; the too-big sweatshirt enveloping both my form and the shorty-denims was a lovely bright green, my leg warmers that were tucked into boots positioned off the quilt (so I didn't get it dirty). But I didn't hang around this time.

The party, one orchestrated by my legally god-brother and the other guy I considered another big brother, was back at the lake. I had long grew bored of hearing the bikini-clad cheerleaders moan and squeal about my boys' muscles, so I decided to head home. Of course, I never told my brothers, which makes this even more fun.

My longer raven curls are up in the cleanest ponytail I could muster, the bangs framing my face, and it's one I'm proud of, my unusual grey eyes hiding behind my unnecessary thick black glasses, the visual identity to the adopted sister of Trent DeMarco.

I sighed into the hot air, the action stirring my boredom at most, and thinking _my legs kind of hurt_. Then I hear the sound of an engine, and just as I turn, an old and rusted yellow car with black racing stripes zooms past me, kicking dirt in my face. _B-stard!_

But then it suddenly stops in the middle of the road, screeching, and I freeze in suspicion, fear dropping in droplets down my spine like an IV drip. _Oh crap-_ My hand goes to the leather strap beneath my sweatshirt, the gun holster I sewn to encasing my sweet little Beretta with green detailing; I named it Malleus when I first received it from Mr. DeMarco.* Or was returned to me by him.

"Cael?" a voice - a super familiar one at that - comes from the rusty, and out steps Mikaela Banes, my god-brother's girl. "What're you doing out here?!"

"Uhh," I um, wondering myself, "the party was too filled with airhead cheerleaders; I got so bored so easily." She grins and I'm about to return it then I realize something with a frown- "what're _you_ doing here?!" The grin falls and she's messing with her hands, looking guilty and conflicted and angry, and I sigh, knowing exactly why: "my brother's an idiot."

Mikk shrugs her shoulders, dismissing it, before bending into the cab with a sweet smile, "can my friend have a ride?" I don't hear or see the driver, but Mikk stands straighter and gestures for me to _come over here, stupid!_ I smile and jog closer, and when I'm close enough, I bend to see inside and thank whoever's in there. "Cael, this is Sam."

The boy I see in there is cute, gangly and lean with little muscle, dark hair and darker eyes who stares back. I smile and say, "thanks, and I'm sorry for taking up your time."

He lets himself smile, a tilt of his lips that for some reason make me blush and he says, "no problem, I'm always filling my car with hot girls." The sentence was said so plainly with sarcasm I had to laugh, which earned me another charming tilt.

I sit down in the back after maneuvering through the car, avoiding collisions and possible humiliation, taking the seatbelt and clicking it into place. Mikk cranks the passenger seat back into place and sits down herself, buckling and smiling at me in confirmation. I nod.

"So what did Trent do?" I asked as Sam starts driving again, his hands comfortable on the wheel, and I feel his eyes flit to me for a second in the mirror. A sudden and surprising sting of heat travels down my spine. "I mean, other than the usual butt-headery."

"He told me to sit in the back seat and be his 'cute little bunny'." I gawked as she half turned, her expression going 'yes, he really did'. I tried to think of why that sentence seemed familiar…

"That absolute idiot," I hissed, remembering, crossing my arms, "he's trying to treat you like he treats me."

"Wait, what?" Mikk suddenly seems even more steamed, since I'm the younger sister and she's, well, the girlfriend. The really pretty one that's nice and not a stuck-up airhead. The one I like.

"Listen first," I hold up a finger, the universal sign for 'back the f-ck up, darlin'' as she fumes with crossed arms and a scowl. "The way Trent's always treated me is as if I'm small and fragile, mostly because I always was and still am. _I've_ always wanted to sit in the backseat that way I can spread out, and he's thinking it's the same for you." Mikk paused, tilting her head at me, curiosity clear in her eyes, "really?"

"That idiot is a monkey, and _monkey see, monkey do_, right?"

Mikk looked down at her lap, drawing Sam's eyes from the road for a second. _He's been silent for a while…_ I realize, and let myself look at him a moment more before turning back to the conflicted girl. "Thanks, Cael," Mikaela finally says, smiling sadly at me. "I'll call Trent after I get home."

"I'm only glad it wasn't because he was being an actual douche," I reassure, giving her a grin. One she returns in her full-watt aura. The scenery that passed with the speed turned to a part of town I would normally visit – the good cafes and boutiques were around here. That's when I feel the heat again.

Sam is looking at me, through the mirror, but this time, his dark eyes were heavy.

All I could think was, _what did I do?_

* * *

><p>When Mikaela's inside her house, the near worn building taller than most other ones in this part, I relax a bit. She had smiled and thanked Sam for the ride then hugged me before disappearing behind her screen door. I watched until she's inside, then I climb back into the cab and commandeer the passenger seat, setting it in place and sitting and buckling.<p>

He starts the rusty back up and heads for downtown, back towards the neighborhood I live in with all the Aber-zombies and Aeropostale-zero chests. We've driven for a little under an hour with dropping Mikaela off, and now I was used to rocking of the car, and with the music playing, I feel the involuntary pull to unconsciousness. The trees that move across the window are like a visual lullaby, the silence and the warmth helping me to dreams.

But Sam, who's been silent for some time, suddenly turns to me, "y'know, it was nice of you to help Mikaela and all… but Trent _is_ a jerk, and he's only going to keep hurting her." I get awake, fast, when I hear that statement; I can only stare at him, shocked. He's got this frustrated look to his glare, like it was-

Oh. I see.

He's muttering vehemently from the side of his face, eyes flicking to me, and I feel the rage building again. "Excuse _you_ – what kind of connection do you have to this situation? Other than your little crush?" I spit, nearly fuming. His eyes widened in surprise, and I smirked meanly, "you think it's subtle?"

"I think Trent's a jerk," he retorted. He must've thought this up a while ago, because he's sticking to it like drugs. Doesn't mean he or the drugs are right, right?

"And I think _you're_ a jerk!" I hissed in retaliation, getting a surprised look, "if you really like someone, you'd want them to be happy, no matter what! I know that Mikaela would be happy with Trent, if they stop fighting. But you're just like every other guy at school – you want her panties, not _her_." I point accusingly with my eyes at him as the landscape changes from woods to cliffs. A long strip of lookouts that are infamous for cars that rock and moan, if you know what I mean.

"What?!"

"You shallow idiot!" I hiss again, and he's about to shout, his face nearly red, when the car suddenly turns. He yelps as I do, the two of us bumping along the smaller part of the overlook, me clutching anything for dear life, the car stopping when we reach the middle. "Ow, what the hell?"

**_-And I can't help but to hear – no I can't help but to hear an exchanging of words... What a beautiful wedding!_** "Sam?" I turn to the boy who seems just as shaken up, staring at the radio like it's a demon, "what's wrong with your car?" **_–I chime in with a Haven't you people ever heard of closing the d-mn door? No! It's much better to face these kinds of thing – With a sense of Poise and Rationality! _**Sam's hand goes to the dials, silencing the song's chorus. He breathes a sigh of relief, looking at me, "sorry. Kinks." His short explanation doesn't help me in the least.

"Kinky," I nervously joked, and he cracked a smile. He froze though, when my door suddenly opened, and with my entirely bracing myself on it, I go tumbling out. "Cael?! You okay?"

"I'm alright," I mutter from the hard ground, the dust I offended hanging in the air around me. I hear his door open and close and I'm standing up, shakily, by the time he's next to me. "Well, I feel stupid."

"I'm sure," he dryly comments, patting my back for the dirt. I try and get it off my sweatshirt's front, but lucky me, it's part clay – it's the kind that needs scrubbing off. "It's not going to come off, so let me just take this off, okay?" I step away and he watches as I lift it up and over my head, mindful of Malleus.

Sam's suddenly red and I pause with the material in my hands, looking down. Underneath my sweatshirt I was wearing just a black tank top with lace edgings… and the gun, too. "Oh, this is Malleus. A gift from someone special." _Someone I don't know…_ and then I note that Sam only sees the gun then, paling, "'gun'?"

_Then what was he looking at before?_ I sit the sweatshirt on the floor mats, mindful of the seats, and help myself sit on the hood of the rusty in front of him, "yep. It' a Berretta. Mr. DeMarco says it might've been my father who left it with me, and maybe to protect myself. I was a baby at the time so…" I play with Malleus's smooth edges, and the rusty dips beneath me as Sam adds his weight. _Maybe the tank has an embarrassing stain… _"I do go crazy when I use it though…"

Sam perks, "'crazy'?"

**_They never saw us coming, till they hit the floor- _**I startle at the sudden blasting volume. **_-They just kept begging for more, more-_** Sam's face is red as he pounces again on the stereo, attempting to cuss out the old thing while silencing it… It doesn't work.

**_-All dressed up for a Hit and Run!-_** I hop off my impromptu seat and tip my head at the sight of Sam verbally abusing his car. _Poor thing_, and I laugh when I realize I don't know which has my sympathy.

"Thanks for all your help," he multi-tasks, yelling sarcastically at me. I giggle as Sam finally succeeds at turning the music off. He sits back into his seat, sighs in relief again, before getting out of the car like an old person – tired and crispy.

"Wait," I say, getting a look, "pop the hood."

* * *

><p>"And you say Mikaela taught you this?" Sam questions as I stand before the bowls of his rusty. His very new engine was all orange and silver – pretty and fast. <em>This was probably a restoration gone wrong<em>, I think.

"Yep, she's a grease monkey," I feel torn telling him this, but for what reason I can't decide. "Her father taught her, she taught me." Mikaela honestly tried to be the best girlfriend, and so she befriended the sister, not knowing that I would be her best friend. But it's the same with me, I guess. "I'm going to take a quick look, okay? So don't start up without me saying to." He nods and leans back onto the car's edge, looking down at me.

I lean into the bowels, checking everything from oil pressure to lines and fluids and contraptions. I hear a sharp gasp, then a painful and dreamy sigh. _What is he doing up there?_ I keep looking though, but everything is-

"Fine," I say, my one-worded greeting back from the world of motor oil, "your car is completely fine."

"What? Are you sure it's not the engine?" I shoot him a look, but he's propped his head up on the open hood, _what the…_ But I decide to ignore it and say "Sam, you've got a brand new engine in here – it's even a double pump. Nothing could possibly wrong with it."

"'Double pump'?" His face is a question mark and I smirk.

"It squirts fuel in so you can go faster," I tell him, leaning back into the bowels my hands delving into the car again. I'm wrestling around with some of the 'kinks' when I hear Sam whisper, "_I'd like to go faster…_" It's a light statement that sounded like a prayer – one that lights my blood and face on fire, heat pooling in my stomach. _Good Lord-_

_-What is this boy **doing** to me?_

* * *

><p>I laugh in my total happiness, getting a chuckle from the driver. The window is open and the music is blasting and I couldn't find a way to be more elated as the night air whipped past me. <strong><em>–Life is a highway!<em>**

Sam races down the back roads, dirt and debris flying like my curls, free from the ponytail. The town we live in is a multitude of bright dots at the bottom of the ridges, but I let the cool midnight air distract me. "Faster!" I laugh, and he puts the petal to the metal, and we're gone.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Thank you for reading!<span>**

**Malleus* - Hammer, in Latin. And a Berretta, if you don't know, is a handgun.**

**Songs used: I Write Sins Not Tragedies (Panic!At the Disco); Hit and Run (LOLO); Life is a Highway (Rascal Flatts version);**


	2. Sharing My Muffins in a Car Chase

**-2-**

**Sharing My Muffins in a Car Chase**

When I woke up, I was expecting to see the ancient map of the world that I downloaded from a wallpaper site and taped to the ceiling above my bed, but instead, I see the angry face of Trent DeMarco, my god-brother. I let myself blink, clearing his face up from the sleep-fog – nope, he's still glaring. He's sitting on the side of my mattress, the froggie-sheets showing, the green comforter that would've covered their cartoon faces long cocooned around my feet.

"What, Trent?" I asked, not particularly happy with his close proximity.

"Got a call from Mikaela last night," he started, the dangerous edge to his tone making me recall last night's events to check for a mistake. All I remember is helping Mikk home, then it was windburn and laughing and stars and music and Sam's tilt. I blush at remembering the slowly growing feeling that settled in my stomach. "You want to know what she said?"

"She forgives your sorry tail?" I challenged, lifting myself up to my elbows.

Trent blinks, leaning back, the bed creaking as his weight is shifted, "well, yea." But then _it's_ _back into your role, Mr. Next-Tom-Cruise, _as he reforms his angry expression, "Want to know what else?"

"Not really," I say, then pantomime sniffing, "but I do want to know the number to that toothpaste company – have you been brushing your teeth with -ss or what?" I absentmindedly checked my phone, and _oh! A text!_

**Cael! meet me Loui's 4 shopping! Luv Bae**, from Mikk's cell, dated yesterday, almost right after we dropped her off. _Girl moves fast_, I praised mentally as I shuffled through the other texts – nothing important.

Trent growls at the jab he received, but surges on with "Mikaela told me you were both with Sam Witwicky, and that she got dropped off at seven. You weren't back till _twelve_." Oh, _sh-t_. We were out that long? It didn't even feel like twenty minutes!

I cover up my sudden loss of control with a "are you telling me I can't go enjoy myself?" He's been so on our mutual guardians about eliminating the curfew because _we can't enjoy childhood if we don't have time to. _Hypocrite.

His face clearly displayed his displeasure, "but with Sam Witwicky?"

"Yes, what's wrong with him? No – wait, you know what? I'm probably late," I said, slipping from my warm covers and into the cold space of my room, the wood beneath me cool and smooth.

But I note the question mark Trent has for a face.

"Mikk wants to go check out some clothes, and she wants to meet at Louie's." That happened to be the best café ever, their Earl Grey so expertly brewed, you'd figure they were from across the pond. But the Californians-by-birth were just humble people that shared their love of brewed drinks – the difference between corporate and truly home-made.

"Mikk wants _you_ to go clothes shopping with _her?_" His barely suppressed amusement was justifiable, however annoying. I wore a sweatshirt and shorts or pants… and that's about it for wardrobe. He's covered his mouth whilst shaking as I emotionlessly stare back; my clothes that I never changed out of had become stretched in my sleep, but blaring the truth.

_Jerk_, I think, but say, "well the company I was in last night didn't seem so bothered." That shut him up, quick, and he was silently fuming as I retrieved things to shower and get ready. "Bye, Trent."

* * *

><p>"That long?" Mikk asked, sounding astounded, "and all that happened was a ride? Nothing else?" We were sitting in the sun, the patio of Louie's is the best spot on a clear day like this. I sipped at my Lavender and Ginger tea, Mikaela's Sunstroke Shake (a delicious blend of citrus and some seriously healthy herbs) sitting abandoned as she leaned into the multiple shopping bags that littered our feet.<p>

The shirt I was in was a simple and a bit baggy green shirt, a darker shamrock in the corner, skinny black denim and black converse. I kept my hair in a little messy ponytail, my glasses perched on my cranium like I wanted them to, not too high on my nose, not librarian-low either.

"Nothing else _had_ to happen," I explained, gesturing to her with my now-free hand, "it was so awesome to just be myself and go crazy." She smiled as one unconsciously crept on my own face, my face nearly glowing red.

"So we like him?" Mikk prodded, wagging her groomed eyebrows. I blushed, "… yea. He's a good guy."

"Not 'hot'." She bluntly added, sipping her drink. I would've felt offended, but…

"No, not 'hot', but… 'fun and cute'." I say, thoroughly pondering Sam, the dark hair and dark eyes are some things I find charming, but I doubt he's cover-material till he grows into his body a bit more, a normal case for guys our age, "this is a boy who offers more personality than looks. Trent's exact opposite, now that I think about it." That entices Mikk to laugh, who's pulled out a new top and pairing it with a cute skirt she got from a different store.

"Are you insulting my taste or yours?" she challenges.

"Yours, definitely," I say without missing a beat, making Mikk laugh again. "Trent's got it going down here," I gesture to my body, "which is great for romances. But I want _love_ – horrific, dangerous love."

"I love your brother," she retorts, sounding a little offended.

"And you can," I offer my surrender, "but I wouldn't. I'm too up in the clouds to always be on the sidelines. You're down to earth and an ego-regulator - you give him the sincere praise he craves and the discipline he deserves, so your love is perfect." She smiles at the summary of her relationship, sipping her drink.

"Sam makes me laugh," I changed the subject quick, before Hallmark offers me a job to write their insufferable cards, "and that's the number one deal breaker – if you can't make me laugh, I will not share my muffins." The sudden and plainly stated innuendo sends Mikk into a rolling fit, an unladylike snort sounding as she nearly runs out of air, making me laugh.

"How charming of you," I comment as she snorts again.

**Crash!** I flinch at the sound of steel sliding on the concrete next to me, like screeching gargoyles in pain. Mikaela paused in her laughter to stare just beyond me, where the supposed gargoyles are. I turned in my chair as well, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Sam?" the guy was groaning pained huffs in a heap with a very girly and very pink bike, and I could see scrapes from his accident on his elbows, "are you okay?"

He sees me and pales, "uh, nope, I'm losing my mind – gotta go, my car's chasing me." He straightened out the pink monstrosity before mounting and taking off like his tail was on fire, no goodbyes or even a second look. I stare after him as he cuts off another car and gets yelled at.

"That was interesting," Mikaela comments, smirking with her head in one hand, "but I see what you mean about him making you laugh – that was _really_ funny." But when I spot Sam's rusty driving along through the cars, turning the same corner as Sam himself did moments before…

A girl will be suspicious.

"Y'know, Mikaela, I'm going to go make sure he's okay," I turn back to her to get affirmation, and instead, I get 'the look'. She doesn't spare me when I say, "okay? Is that fine?" I know what she's asking for with her eyes, but-

"Fine… I guess I might like him."

She promptly squeals, and ushers me along with her hands.

* * *

><p>Since I'm usually with Trent or Jordan, and am also passive in sibling rivalries, Trent was the one out of both of us that got a vehicle. A truck to be straight with you and it totally fits him: both big and done up like the American Dream. (But I figure the inanimate object has the higher IQ.)<p>

Me? I got a bike. One that's green with a cute vintage style and a brown woven basket, mostly for the books I stray from the house for. It's cute, and Mikaela had laughed and told me she couldn't see me with anything else.

I'm dreaming of motorcycles, actually, and I can't wait to get _that_ license.

But for now, I'm pedaling down the street, weaving through cars like a professional, flipping off the usual grumps who act like a biker is an alien concept. "Hey, watch it!" speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

I flip the bird till the driver is nice and crispy, "shove off, _grandpa_." But keep moving down the maze, turning where both the rusty and Sam went, and noting the garage/dump. I pull in, inspecting the high ceiling and all the metal-junk around. _Scrap heap?_

"Cael!" I smile when I hear Sam's voice, and look up, expecting to see him and maybe that tilt that makes my heart go just a little faster.

Nope, cause the universe f-ckin' hates me.

Instead, I get a red-faced, scared and running boy followed by a building high and wide metal _monster_. Its red eyes are zoned in on the prey in front of it, and said prey is running towards me and yelling, "run, Cael!" The metal and wires and joints move in perfect union, the metal giant's roar near electronic itself, its super-strength letting it rage forward and flip cars like I flip cards.

I can only freeze.

"Sam?" I whisper not totally in my body, and he knocks me out of my moving bike and to the unforgiving ground, the monster's roar echoing again. I grip Sam's shirt as he pulls me up, frantic and looking.

**Screeech!** It's the rusty, the yellow and black car donutting into the creature's legs, downing it, and pulling up beside us, the door flung open from the momentum. _Or something else_, my mind concocts. But Sam is wordlessly pushing my into the cabin, and I brace myself against the car's frame, "Sam, no!"

The downed monster roars from its place, getting up and targeting us. Sam only sounds strangely calm as he says, "trust me." And all I can do is numbly let him push me in, his own body following. Sitting in the driver's seat, he doesn't touch the wheel but puts me up against him to say, "go, _go, **go, go!**_"

And then the car just… goes.

I'm thrown back by the sheer sudden speed this thing unleashes, the body under me a cushion against the acceleration. Sam's looking at both mirrors, one hand gripping my opposite shoulder with all the fear he feels. It's a painful grip.

I peek from Sam's t-shirt to pick out the giant from the rearview, just as it _transforms_ in mid-air, becoming a police car with lights and sirens ablaze. _Can Sam's car do that?_

Oh god, I'm going to have to rethink sharing my muffins.

"Sam, what is that thing?" I yell above the roaring engine. He shakes his head, dismissing my question. We get thrown into the driver's-door as the car makes a hard right, up and into the maze of downtown's car-sized alleys.

I know these because Trent used to race our dad's Ferrari down here; it was practically fixed, always up against the helpless competition. _This isn't a race – but if we get caught we **LOSE!**_ I yelp as we hit a pothole, the cop imposter behind us not skipping a beat. "Sam!"

Said boy wrapped both arms around me, yelping with me, but more contained. _This happened to him before,_ I realize, but my mind is thinking useless things – _Get rid of that useless thing!_ I remembered Trent's 3rd stepmother saying that about… Malleus!

I pull the sweet berretta from its resting place, pressing the window button and hot wind comes racing in. "Cael?" But then he sees Malleus, and before he can say anything else, I'm leaning out the window, torso hugged to Sam's by his arms.

I fired and a headlight was shattered, the sweet pull of the trigger-happy eccentric side of me immediately bubbling up. _Bring the hammer down on this b-tch! _my mind roared.

Gladly.

(Later, when looking back, I'd blush at the cheesiness.)

**Bam-bam-bam!** Bullets hit and scratched, but made no real damage except for the headlight. We make another left, and one right. As I heard the electronic roar again, I deduced it only made him angrier. But hey, b-tch deserved it. I pull Malleus to my chest, twisting back inside where I'm sitting face-to face with Sam, who's still wide-eyed as I am.

"Well?" he questions, the panic still evident in his tone.

"Nothing," I felt close to tears – the one thing that would be socially acceptable to shoot at is immune to my weapon. My luck.

He only pulls me to his chest again, and we both yelp at a pothole. The car we're in turns suddenly, and I recognize the industry side of town, and with a switch turn for a left, I can't see the police car behind us. I only let myself take one breath, and the car turns hard again, then starts backing up into a dark nook.

I grip Sam's shirt harder, feeling utterly helpless. Sam curses at the click of the lock and when the car we are in shuts down, he curses again, scrambling with the resisting lock. I can only watch, but freezes when Sam does. In front of us, where the alley connects to the road, is our stalker.

Our engine starts trying to turn itself on, Sam muttering incoherent words.

The imposter's engine is rumbling, revving in a way that seems almost teasing. Taunting. _But who-_

When the brake light's glow on the asphalt is the only visible trait of our stalker, our car roars to life, and I'm thrown into Sam again. _Oh, that's who. _I yelp as we pass our still stalker, and paling as the red turns to the red and white of reverse, but we're past it when it does back up. _But it's still coming after us!_

I finally do scream when the car suddenly disappears from under us, me and Sam tumbling out on painful gravel, tearing. The scream was of the addition of pain to my torn emotional state - I feel weak. I _hate_ weak.

But the pain is less than the shock as Sam's car, does in fact, _transform_. This metal creature different from our first, the stature less but with the addition of what I can deduce as wings on the back. The blue eyes of Sam's rusty watch as the imposter comes racing, transforming in a second to the metal monster and crashing into our creature.

Malleus, that still lies in my hand, gripped as a lifeline, comes up and fires as I lay, the bullets doing nothing to the monster. _It doesn't matter the form then_, I lock this tidbit away. I may feel weak – but I won't stay that way. "Sam!"

He's already halfway up, cuts and bruises showing. He looks to me, offering a hand, and I take it, pushing to my feet.

I do not accept being weak. Not even for giant transforming robots.

I still have to rethink sharing my muffins.

* * *

><p><strong>So, I've edited the story - mostly simple grammatical errors that only took a second or two, but thank you for sticking to this story so far. It means a lot.<strong>

**Insanely yours,**

**Midnight Mouse**


	3. Aliens are Dead-Sexy Cars

**-3-**

**Aliens are Dead-Sexy Cars**

I get up on my shaky feet, staring as steel and concrete and steel connect – this giant death match couldn't be the best for my health. I feel Sam tug on my hand, trying to lead us away, but the high from shooting Malleus delays our escape. _I want to stay_, my blood thirst roars, _I want to fight this challenger!_

But something tells me the imposter wouldn't fight fairly, if fair even gives me a chance. I push past the part of me that hisses at the disgrace of running away, rushing along with Sam as we distance ourselves. _The rusty is back there_, my face heating in shame, _and we just left him to fight by himself!_

But it's like the imposter read my mind…

It growls in the rusty's choking clutch, and with a tiny explosion, half the front end splits into a small metal munchkin – one that does not look like singing or dancing is its forte. It purrs in satisfaction of being out and about, racing after us and Sam curses when he takes notice. "C'mon, Cael! Let's go!"

The gremlin screeches after us, the sounds of our rusty fighting the imposter still loud enough to invade my senses. Me and Sam dodge through piles of scrap, our new stalker close behind and _I don't know how close it is_. Sam yelps when he suddenly falls, and I immediately am trying to help him up, the metal claw gripping his jeans has him yelling incoherently.

"Go," he yells, pushing me away. I balk, I'm running away again? I pull out Malleus and aim, **bang-bang-bang!** The gremlin takes all three bullets, roaring in pain as it drops back. _Small enough_, I realize, _small enough that lead hurts!_

Sam grips his jeans, discarding them as the downed gremlin still contains its hold. He grabs the hand that has no smoking gun in it, dragging me. "Sam," I gasp, I can finally feel how my lungs are on fire. I spot the smaller guard house, when the gremlin pops up again, screeching its hate at us. I stumble from Sam's grip and he only wastes a second to see me rip the door open.

_C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!_ I sift through everything, looking for something to help, because obviously bullets work, but they don't work the best. Then I spot it, and while my eccentric side usually only comes out for Malleus, it's grinning along with me as I zoom in on the impromptu weapon.

* * *

><p>Sam's backed up against the fence, the metal minion trying to take a bite. It keeps going at his face, Sam's arms keeping a good enough distance between his face and the minion's teeth. Said minion is still pushing down on him, the distance Sam is fighting to keep is temporary.<p>

I let myself grin, the handsaw in my hands whirring to life, "excuse me!" I swing, the sound of the blade meeting the creature's thin strips of metal for arms and its pained moan like music to my unstable state's ears.

"Hope you don't mind me busting in-" it drops to the ground, and I keep swinging, Sam's tired threats coming in as exhausted gasps.

"-But Sam's _my_ date," I pull the saw back, my handiwork being the few slivers left in the gravel and dirt. The gremlin fits right in with the scrap yard now.

Then I feel a burning hand on my back, and I'm turned towards the half-dressed boy, who still pants in exhaustion, "good job, Cael." I smile in thanks, my own labored breathing not slowing, and he handles me with care as he grips my hand and tugs me gently along.

It's then I realize that I can no longer hear the death match, and I instantly wonder if the rusty is okay. Sam's leading me to the hill we raced over just minutes before, and there, hands on metal hips, stands the victor.

_Yellow and black_, my eccentricity sings, _the victor is back!_ I step closer to Sam, who was no doubt the intended target for the imposter and its mini-me. I look up at the rusty, the wings on its back and the blue sparks it has for eyes.

I'm about to ask, _what is it?_ "It's got to be Japanese," Sam mumbles, and I know he's figured a similar conclusion. I watch as it narrows in on Sam, its stance expectant. "It wants something from me…"

I look at him in surprise, because I was thinking that, and- "how do you know?"

"The other one talked about my eBay page." He said, matter-o-factly. _What, did you not FedEx the turntable he bought from you?_ I didn't say it out loud, it would honestly not help if I did. Instead I listen to his breathing, calming my own down.

"So, can you speak?" Sam shouts up. Honestly we both knew he could. The other one did.

**_-XM Satellite Radio – Digital Cable brings you… – Columbia Broadcasting System – _**different voices and accents and dialects coming together, static in between. It radiated from inside the giant, the rusty's artic eyes watching us as we watched it.

"So… you talk through the radio?" Sam called up again, his tone reminding me of a kid making sure he got the question right on the practice sheet in Math. I put Malleus back, letting go of Sam's temporarily to fix it just right.

As soon as my hand drops to my side from the holster, Sam picks it back up, and my face heats. What is this boy going to do to me? **_–_****_Thank you, you're beautiful. You're wonderful, you're wonderful – _**the deep manly voice was broadcasted over the sound of multiple people clapping.

"So what was that last night?" Sam drills his rusty, and I perk at the mention. _So he did see this before…_ "What was that?"

**_- Message from Starfleet, Captain - Throughout the inanimate vastness of space… - Angels will rain down like visitors from heaven! Hallelujah! –_** different voices brought different clips of culture, but it all pointed to the same thing:

"So," I promptly say, "you're an alien."

He claps; steel pounding steel. I smile in response, and I note Sam's grin in my peripheral. The rusty points to us before dropping to its knees and transforming back into my favorite car, the door swinging open. "He wants us to get in the car," Sam interprets, almost hesitant.

I only turn to Sam and smile, "race you."

* * *

><p>I don't really know if I should be as disappointed as I am that we stopped for Sam's pants…<p>

* * *

><p>"He has legit skill," I say as I reposition myself, mischievous grin bright, the joystick pressed into my thigh. "You could learn a thing or two, Sam." The scenery of scrap turned to neighborhoods then to a dark road with a tunnel up ahead, <em>I can see those lights from here.<em>

He only replies dryly with a tilt, "with an alien car there is more than one or two things to learn." My cheeks turn red, and he coughs. "Why don't you sit in that seat?" He gestures to the driver seat where the wheel is turning itself and the pedals move without feet.

"Isn't that rude though?" I ask aloud. He shrugs, then turns a bit red. _What is he thinking-_

"Maybe you should sit in my lap…"

Good Lord, he did _not_. I watch as he peeks at me through his blush and then pats his knee. My dear Readers – he _did_.

"Why?" I can't hold my tongue when its slips out and Sam tilts his head in thought. "Cause I have the only seat belt, and, y'know, safety first." Says the guy that just witnessed an alien death match and survived nearly getting his face eaten by a metal gremlin. And have I forgotten to mention? He's inside of an alien, _the victor_ of the aforementioned _death match_.

But, I look at his dark hair and dark eyes. I blush, thinking deeper than I definitely _should_, "for safety's sake, then." I pride myself on the choice of people I have made, and Sam is one of them.

I position myself atop his lap, his arms reaching around me with the strap that saves lives. Where he's touched me still tingles, an electric current underneath my skin. A trail of heat follows in its wake, and I suddenly can't breathe. He notices, and his breathing deepens an inch, lighter than mine, "_Cael…_"

_Change the subject, change the subject – oh Hell at war with Heaven – __CHANGE THE SUBJECT!__ –_ "I have a question," I can breathe as Sam and his hands retreat, "if he's so advanced, why does he only turn back into _this_ car? Isn't there another car he'd like to be?"

**Screech!** I'm thrown back; deeper into Sam's embrace. "Ow!" I yelp, when my foot nails the chair's unforgiving metal. The door swings open, introducing us to the tunnel's sidewalk, and Sam leads me out. Our ride puts the pedal to the metal when it U-turns, smoke kicked up as it disappears the way we came.

"Seriously? You had to ask that?" He growls to me, and shame holds me still, but anger roars back. "That was four thousand, just driving away!"

"Excuse you! I was just asking why he wanted that form," I point to where our rusty U-turned, earning honks and yelling. "He could've been a Ford Ranger, or even a Volkswagen Bug!"

Sam only blinks, anger replaced with an expression that just read 'oh'.

I _hrumph_, "moron. Who ever said I intended to insult him?" Before Sam can say anything, we hear a loud horn, and I turn to see a seriously sexy Camaro pulling up alongside us. It's a yellow one, a rare loud colored one with black… racing… stripes…

D-mn.

I turn back to a gawking Sam, and I go ahead and grab his hands. I'm giggling as the cars that were interrupted honk loudly, their drivers hanging out the windows and shouting. Sam snaps from his reserve and opens the door for me, _who said chivalry was dead?_

And who knew aliens were dead-sexy cars?

* * *

><p>"I really hope we don't get mugged." I say offhandedly, as we are driven further into the dark, dank, and misty alley. Robbery scene ready for the big screen.<p>

"Yes, Cael," Sam grins, "the giant robot alien wants our _money_." _**–****that's some funny sh-t, right there-**_

"Oh, yea. Gang up on the girl," I growl.

The car's radio squeaks in response. Then, we've stopped, and I hear the engines of other vehicles as both me and Sam get out. Soon, my mind is racing, remembering all that Mikaela taught me as the entire group of them appear.

A Peterbilt 379, decked in blue and red and orange; a silver Pontiac Solstice, smooth and revving; a GMC Topkick, all menacing and shiny midnight; and finally a Hummer H2, dressed in the loud colors of yellow and red of a Search and Rescue vehicle.

Who knew aliens were so tasteful?

They start transforming, the already large vehicles becoming giants, and our rusty (should I still call him that? Yes, yes I should.) joins them. Soon, they are a group of metal giants, blue eyes looking down to us pitiful humans.

The Peterbilt takes one knee and bends to Sam, "are you Samuel James Witwicky? Descendent of Archibald Witwicky?" What a deep voice he has. _Did they look Sam up on the web, or what_? I don't have to look to see Sam sweating at the attention, and I feel for him.

I lean into his form, blushing as I do, our hands clasped, "they're your secret admirers, I think."

Sam laughs, then says to me in mock-anger, "how _dare_ they not bring chocolate for my sexy body." I laugh and Sam finally relaxes at the sound of it, turning to the curious semi that absorbed our conversation, "yes, I'm Sam. This is Cael." He gestures to me with his free hand.

"My name is Optimus Prime." The larger gestures to the group that surround us, "we are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron."

The S&R speaks up, a studied and intelligent voice coming from under the bright colors, "but you can call us Autobots for short."

I test that on my tongue, "Autobots. Nice." My eyes droop, and suddenly, I'm too tired. That sleeping-everywhere trait's showing up again. I'll be testy in a minute.

The sleekest car, the sassy Solstice flips and crushes a car to relax on the wreckage, "what's cracking, little b-tches?" _Your face if you call me a b-tch again_, I think, but do not say. I'm testy – not their fault.

And after all, my bullets don't work on them.

"My first lieutenant, designation: Jazz," the leader says gently, his tone apologetic.

"This looks like a cool place to kick it," Jazz comments as he sits on the crushed car… in the dark, dank, smelly, robbery-prone alley. This guy has a missing piece, _somewhere_. I take only a second to keep looking at Jazz, who caught and kept my stare. I turn away after that, leaning unconsciously into Sam, somehow used to his warmth, it soothes the anger boiling at the ready.

"My weapon specialists, Ironhide."

It's the Topkick who responds, his metal transforming into giant cannons. Grinning, he says, "you feeling lucky, punks?"

"I'm still here aren't I?" I immediately challenge, my eccentricity roaring in agreement. Ironhide grins, "I like this femme." I grin back, tucking myself into Sam, who's chuckling.

"Our medical officer, Ratchet," Optuimus continues.

"The boy's pheromone levels suggest he wants to mate with the female," the S&R says, and the two of us jump, and while I still stay next to him, my hand in his, we can't look at each other. I'm flattered though. Sam only whistles, looking everywhere else.

Optimus spares us and amused glance before he points to our rusty, "you already know your guardian, Bumblebee."

Bumblebee starts playing his music, boxing an imaginary foe **_– _****_Check the rep, yep: second to none –_** Sam laughs, "Bumblebee, huh? You're my guardian?" Bumblebee nods, an affirmative squeak echoing.

Ratchet breaks out the reds lasers, the multitude of them focused on Bumblebee's metal throat, who promptly coughs, "his vocal processors were damaged in battle. I'm still working on them." _Poor Bee_, I think, the coughing robot rubbing his throat absentmindedly.

"Why are you here?" Sam asks Optimus, his eyes expectant.

"We are here looking for the All-Spark, and we must find it _before_ Megatron," Optimus emphasized the importance with his gravelly voice.

"Mega-who?" I ask, tilting my head.

Optimus sighs, then taps his temple, if they have one. From his blue eyes come holograms of crumbling asphalt, rising metal structures that spin and transform into towering spikes. I can see the projected bodies of other giants, dead as they lay, and some even hang limply from the spikes.

A battlefield.

Optimus is speaking over the loud clanks of the forming landscape, "our planet was once a powerful empire, peaceful and just." _Not anymore_, I mentally comment. Sam stills beside me.

Soon, another giant, one with an inferno of red for eyes comes into view, and he nails an escaping robot with a long spear, laughing loudly. The Autobot Leader's voice carries over the murderer's laugh, "until we were betrayed by Megatron, leader of the Decepticons."

"I bet you that police car's one of the Decepticons," I say, and Sam squeezes my hand in agreement.

"All who defied them were destroyed. Our war finally consumed the planet, and the All Spark was lost to the stars," Optimus continues. Soon, we see Megatron falling to earth after a large cube. "Megatron followed it to Earth, where Captain Witwicky found him."

_Who's –_ "My grandfather," Sam clears up, sparing a glance to me.

"It was an accident that intertwined our fates," Optimus concludes.

"Quite the fate," I comment, getting a laugh from the surrounding robots. Bee squeaks.

"Megatron crash-landed before he could retrieve the Cube. And your grandfather accidently activated his navigation system. And so, the Cube's location was printed on the glasses."

"How' you know about the glasses?" Sam drills the larger.

"eBay," Optimus replies evenly, and I giggle. Sam repeats the name, smiling to himself.

Ratchet cuts in, "if the Decepticons find the All-Spark, they will use its powers to transform Earth's machines and build a new army."

Optimus picks it back up, "and the human race will be exstinguished." He gets up from his knee, his intimidating height level with few of his subordinates, "Sam Witwicky, you hold the key to Earth's survival."

I level a look at the giants, Sam rubbing a hand through his hair nervously, and I reply with a "no pressure or anything." They have a serious problem with locking the toy-box up at night. But still…

Who knew aliens were dead-sexy cars?

* * *

><p><strong>Quote from Sweet Daddy Dee (puppet under Jeff Duhnam);<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope you liked it.<strong>

**Insanely yours,**

**Midnight Mouse.**


	4. Leather, Sarcasm, and MIB-Wannabes

**-4-**

**Leather, Sarcasm, and MIB-Wannabes**

Sam had disappeared behind the fence's gate, the borders of his ultra-clean and super restricted yard. I wondered if Sam's parents had him grow like that – strict and straight. But then I remember the jokes in his car, and the dry replies and the staring contest between him and the hundred foot robot not a quarter of an hour ago.

Optimus, in his vehicle form, sat behind me, Bee and Ironhide at either side of the Peterbilt. Ratchet and Jazz were farther behind, at the both mouths of the alley as lookouts. I lean on Optimus' front, humming a small tune under the slight vibration of his engine under the metal.

I move though, when Optimus' voice echoed from his radio, "Cael." I take a step forward, turning so I face him, "yea, Mean Machine?" With a clank, he transforms into his true Cybertronian appearance, the blues and reds and oranges making him look particularly bad-ss.

But he's a bad-ss that towers over humans and their fences, and I wonder if anyone has noticed. _A scream would have been heard then. _"We need you to look as well – we cannot keep waiting," he says, almost like he was stating the obvious.

I hold my hands up in surrender, "hey - stop, big guy - Sam doesn't need my help. If it can even be considered help." I don't have the slightest clue as to where Sam would stash a book bag after a school day.

He lowers a hand anyways, and I sigh as I load myself on top of his palm, not trying to fight the giant. He moves over the fence, and I can hear pots falling and breaking under the tremors the lead-bot creates. I'm not going to comment though, because I'm already in front of Sam's window.

He's stripping everything down to its basics in there, but I get his attention by knocking on the glass. His head tilts quickly and his eyes catch mine, a frown immediately set.

"Romeo, oh Romeo, where for art thou stupid specs?" I groan as he opens and then helps me through the window. Optimus retracts his hand as Sam steadies me, muttering dryly, "still looking, Juliet."

I shake my head, and he returns to the task at hand. "Can I help?" I ask, and he gestures to the rest of the room by way of answer. I nod and silently start my own work. I pull through the magazine rack, looking behind it, and do the same to his bed before I start on the wall. But finding nothing, I'm kneeling and grabbing at a nondescript black box.

One that Sam snatches away, face resembling a tomato, "it's… uh… not in here."

I frown, then it hits me, making me grin, "so should I dress as a school teacher? Or maybe the dominatrix babysitter?" He sputters, face turning a shade of red I thought impossible. It's so nice to tease him, and red is _really_ his color.

But he remains silent.

"Ah, I see how it is…" I can't help myself, "but I never expected you to be into _leather_…"

"I'm not," he returns, blushing but falling into step with my humor. "It's more of a… clothing situation."

I ponder this information as I'm looking, "so: dressing up?"

"More like dressing down…"

* * *

><p>I'm still grinning the two minutes afterwards, having gotten some clues, but by the third, the house is shaking, and I hear Ratchet outside. "Wow! That was tingly! Ooh! You got to try that!" What the hell?<p>

Ironhide sneers sarcastically, "Yeah. That looks fun." Bee squeaks in amusement.

I don't even want to know.

Sam promptly face palms; then shuffles through his closet again. I do let myself a tiny grin, though, at Ironhide's expense. Who knew aliens understood the concept of sarcasm? Remind me, dear Readers, to sarcasm them to death.

"Sam?" a voice - male and deep with age, his dad's or most likely and uncle's - echoes in the hallway. Footsteps are heard reaching the door. I glance fearfully at Sam, who returns it tenfold. 'Hide,' he mouths, and I dive next to his bed when the door shakes with knocking.

"Sammy?" this voice is female, and I assume Sam's mother.

"Ratchet, point the light. Come on, hurry." I hear the rumble, but the sentence doesn't register till the high beams are on and into the room, illuminating Sam's enraged expression and the eye-roll I produce. I see Sam sigh, and then race to the window, taking a peek at me. I blush under the weight of my suddenly tripled insecurity, _he worries about me even now?_

Sam still leans out the window, looking pointedly at the Hummer S&R, "listen, we got a major issue in here. What's with the light? You gotta stop the light. What's going on? Turn it off. You gotta tell him to shut it off. _Shut. It. Off._" Optimus taps the medic's shoulder in response.

"What the hell is that?" I hear Sam's dad question on the other side of the door – _too late_. "I don't know," his mom answers worriedly. I wait as Sam leans from the window, glancing around his room.

"Sam?" his father calls again. I blanch at their constant knocking. We're done for.

"That's weird," his mother comments, "Sam!" Her son was throwing stuff around, glancing between that and the door.

"Sam, are you in there? How come the door's locked? You know the rules: No doors locked in my house!" Sam looks at me, and I shrug with nerves evident. I honestly can't do anything. I get an eyebrow in response.

"You know he'll start counting if you don't open the door!" his mother threatened. I drive through the piles around me, still hiding, but having nothing to show for it at the end.

"One more chance. _Five..._" his father decidedly yells. "Oh, dear." I hear his mother sigh.

"_Four_. It's coming off the hinges, pal," his father warns, gaining a tired sigh from his wife. I squeeze myself into the shadow of his bed, looking for any visible robots outside and through the papers at my knees for any sign of spectacles.

"He's _counting!_ Sam, just open the door," his mother decidedly pleads.

"_Three_." I look around, _would he really-?_

"Oh, my." _Yes, yes he would._

"Two," came from Mr. Witwicky at the same time the disbelieving sigh of, "he's _counting!_" came from Mrs. Witwicky. Sam looks pointedly to me. I nod, letting go of the search and pulling part of his comforter down around me.

It smells like Axe, the really good kind, and his distinct scent of breezes through rolled down car windows. I blush hard, finding it harder to focus now than ever before.

"Stand back," Mr. Witwicky warns, just as Sam opens the door. When their eyes widen, he stomps the next thing they're going to say with a question, "what's up? What's with the bat?"

His father, a stockier man, now that I can see him, disregards Sam, "who were you talking to?" His mother shares his eyes, but her vibrant hair is hers only and she stands out between them. The impromptu club rests on the man's shoulder, a frown resting on his face.

"I'm talking to you," Sam parries. His shifty movement draws a look from his mother, but she doesn't speak, instead glancing around his room, as if it had the answers. His dad grumbles.

"Why are you so sweaty and filthy?" his mother questions him with folded arms.

"I'm a child. You know, I'm a teenager."

"We heard voices and noises and we thought maybe you were-," but his mother was cut off by the barging in of his father. "Yeah, it doesn't matter what we thought. What was that light?"

"No, what light? What? There's no light, Dad! There's no light!" Sam nearly screeches as his father takes a hesitant step forward.

"The light!" Mr. Witwicky snorts, disbelieving.

"You got two lights in your hand! That's what it is."

"There was light under the door," his father further explains, then gives him a pointed look.

"No, maybe it bounced- look, you can't- you can't just bounce into my room like that. You got to knock. You got to communicate." _'Bounce', Sam? Smooth. You __**must **__be the OG._

"We did- We knocked for five minutes!" His father sputters, scandalized at the thought.

"I'm a teenager." Sam said by way of explanation, gesturing to himself.

"We knocked!" Judy exclaimed, hands up above her head, exasperated.

"You didn't knock. You were screaming at me, okay?" Sam accused half-heartedly, sneaking my hidden form quick glances. I never had trouble with the two adults me and Trent had at home, so once again I'm useless.

"No." Mrs. Witwicky denies immediately.

"This is repression, what you're doing here. You're ruining my youth, okay?" _Is he really starting the Teenage-Revolution right now? _We don't exactly have the time… I rub my head, annoyed at the cramps I feel coming on in my bended knees.

"Oh, for Pete's sakes! You are so defensive! Were you... masturbating?" His mother tenderly asks. I freeze, hand mid-way off my head, eyes wide. What is it with these Witwickys and their show-stopping words?! Good Gosh, kill me now.

Her husband seems to be the same, "_Judy_."

"Was I mastur- No, Mom!" Sam growls, halfway to shouting.

His father only spares her a "zip it, okay?"

"It's okay." Sam's mother gestures with two adamant hands, waving off their combined denial.

"No, I don't masturbate!" Sam backs a step away, totally forgetting about me no doubt as he blanches.

"That's not something for you to bring up. That's a father-and-son thing, okay?" Her husband informs dutifully, the flashlight turned to her.

"I mean-" Mrs. W begins again.

"Father-son thing," her husband cuts in and argues.

"You don't have to call it that word if that makes you uncomfortable. You can call it... Sam's happy time or-" I nearly give myself away, clutching my face as I nearly have a fit on the floor. This lady is a riot.

"'Happy time'?" Sam sounds downright scandalized, bordering on frightened.

"My special alone time..." she continues, oblivious to the horrified expression both males wear.

"Stop." Mr. Witwicky's voice has a pleading edge.

"Mom. You-" Sam begins.

"Judy, stop." Her husband begs.

"-with myself." Judy states plainly.

"Mom, you can't come in and-" Sam starts to state, just as plainly.

"I'm sorry. It's just been a weird night. I've had a little bit to drink." _That explains everything_, I think, choking on my giggling. Sam looks adorable when he turns red. "No, no, Dad."

"Yeah, well, we saw a light. I don't know where it was, but we saw it." His father redirects, sounding disturbed. Much like how Sam is at this moment. He audibly chokes, stumped.

I stand up, blinking as my numb limbs painfully regain the blood veins. Pins and needles, I want to cry, it really friggin' hurts! Mr. Witwicky turns the flashlight to me though, staring accusingly before he realizes _what_ I am.

A girl.

A girl in his teenage son's room.

"Hi," I say, smiling, "I'm Cael – Sam's friend."

I ignore their fistbump.

* * *

><p>I glared from the back seat; the leather interior in the black SUV just added to their growing stereotype of Grade A conspiracy starters. Are they trying to look like M.I.B.? Because if they are, they need to try <em>a lot<em> harder. Sam, who sat beside me, watched my in his peripheral, sparing cursory glances out the window.

"So what do you kids know about aliens?" Agent Douche-baggery asks as his eyes gauged us. I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, that's for d-mn sure. That only other agent we're with is the one driving, in the same tux – boring, rat race-esque.

Sam is shrugging, "what? Like E.T.? Legends and myths started by the Internet." He spares a glance my way, looking for something. I ignore the slight pleading there – we both know I'm going to give it to him:

"-and let's not forget your ugly mug. Inspiration for a b-rated sci-fi movie right there." I speak, loud enough that Sam sputters through surprised laughing and Agent D reddens in anger.

"Watch it, Training Bra," he snaps at me, looking my length in thinly veiled interest. Beside me, Sam stiffens, and a glare forms heavy on his face. I knew Sam for maybe a day and a half, but I knew with every fiber he was about to kill the Douche.

"You're just jealous I'm bigger in that area than you, Stacey McUgly-Mug." I say quickly, diffusing the tension of an oncoming brawl. Sam blinks, and the driving agent has failed at hiding his grin.

"Do you want to mess with me? I will lock you up!"

"Bring it, Granny-Panties," I smirk, "get maybe five or six more guys and I call this even."

"I will wage war on you and your pubescent little mind," he nearly roars back. Sam is back to mere growls, clasping my hand from the seat's crack, glaring at Simmons.

"To call it war means an equal chance at winning – second verse, same as the first: you need five more little clones. Or at least a couple more _years _of studying comebacks," I inform him, squeezing Sam's hand reassuringly. He smiles.

"Watch it, brat," Simmons hissed, "things aren't always what they seem."

"Which is obviously _why_ you think you can win," I retort, "you are a thousand years too early to mess with me." It's then I notice the harsh and frequent beeping of Simmons' contraption, and all too quickly I see the two metal legs in front of us, illuminated be the headlights, but the driving agent somehow doesn't. "Me… and _them_."

Simmons eyes widen just in time for the car to suddenly jerk to a stop, and us and the two douches duck when metal fingers rip through the sides and attach to the roof of the car. I yelp when we're lifted into the air, the sudden feeling of my stomach not being there sending me into nauseous spins. Sam nearly turns green.

_The Autobots have a little too much flair for dramatics_, I think sourly, holding the churning acids in my stomach by will alone.

Then the car drops from Optimus's hands.

_Nice play, Shakespeare._

* * *

><p><strong>Hello, again.<strong>

**The past couple of days have been nothing but turmoil in its finest essence. To those who patiently waited, I thank you. To those who didn't: you should really be thankful I don't know where you live. Or what your deepest fear is. I have a nasty habit of using those to play with my... _food_.**

**Insanely yours,**

**Midnight Mouse**


	5. That Dam Tour and that D-mn Tour Guide

**-5-**

**That Dam Tour and that D-mn Tour Guide**

I wiped my cheeks as Sam sat down and let himself be strapped in the helicopter, hand still holding mine as the agent instructed me to sit down as well. Tears had slipped out sometime after I had stripped Simmons of his pride – and a good amount of clothes – when Bee was taken down, agents in monkey suits swarming like maggots around him, freezing our creature.

I had screamed, Sam had roared, and all Bee did was reassuringly squeaked to us. That wasn't enough for me and Sam though, and we since joined the rusty on the ground when at least five agents each dog-piled us.

On a good note, Optimus had the glasses – they can retrieve the Cube, their mission was almost complete.

I let the agent reach to either side of me and handle the straps, but Sam glared when the man took more time than necessary to buckle it in across my chest. The agent caught Sam's heavy glare and unconsciously flinched, retreating as soon as possible.

Sam had taken the ear muffs/headphones away from the other agent, putting some on me first, then retrieving a set of his own. I blushed each time his hand touched my skin, because being taken care of was a new sensation entirely, the feeling in my stomach almost overpowering. "Sam," I said, "I'm sorry I wasn't any help."

He simply shook his head, "nah, you were all the help I needed. Thanks." He clasped my hand in his, and I knew he saw the blush that covered my face then, and his eyes widened, "Cael?"

"Nothing!" I say, waving it off.

"What did they get you for?" a new voice, one that sat across from us in the form of a pretty and slightly older blonde. She was smirking, and searching for something. I didn't like the way she peered at Sam, and maybe I can chalk that up later, but right now? Not cool.

The guy beside her was a bit stockier, with skin the color of lightwood, shaking and pushing glasses up to his face. Glasses… "I lost my glasses." I turn to Sam, and he smirks, "did you_ just _notice this?"

"Did you not?!"

"You lost them when I rammed you in the scrap heap." Felt like forever ago when Sam slammed me into that concrete.

"Good times," I dryly joke, getting a laugh.

"Please don't ignore me," the blonde says, and Sam stares at her for a second.

"I bought a car," he decisively says, "turned out to be a giant alien robot."

The lightwood man quakes, "wha?!" The blonde seems impressed and slightly excited by the prospect let alone. I grin, "what a suave way of putting it."

I get a charming tilt and I blush.

_This boy…_

* * *

><p>Simmons is glaring at me again.<p>

Maybe because a few minutes earlier, before we came to this plain white room, he was sucking up, offering to get Sam anything he wanted, listing coffee names and a whole array of treats. Glen, as I learned the computer genius's name, got a doughnut. Sam was calming me down by asking different things, turning my focus on anything other than choking the moron out.

I was snarky, to say the least.

"So Trent is afraid of what, spiders? Snakes?"

"Clowns."

"That's the classic 'ridiculous fear'." Sam wears his tilt, a bemused note to the way his lips are curved.

"He's always been sort of predictable – him and Jordan," I say, his hand squeezing mine as Simmons is distracted from his one-sided staring contest by another agent.

"By the way, where did the 'Cael' come from?" Sam asks. "Is it, like somehow, short for something or…"

"Nope," I brightly say, "when I was passed to the DeMarcos that was my name. I did look it up, though: it means 'storm' in Latin."

"So I've got my own personal hurricane – nice." I blush heavily when he says 'my own' for some reason. He pulls me closer to him, smirking, "so, Stormy…" I look at him, wide eyed. "What?"

"'Stormy'?" I ask, astounded. I get an eyebrow, and he challenges me, "got a problem with that?"

"No!" I say too quickly, covering it up with a cough and getting only more looks, "it's cute." Then I'm blushing, and I duck my head into his chest, his chin atop my head, embarrassed and face-palming. Sam laughs, and I hear another whispered prayer, "_you're cute_."

Good Lord, save my doomed soul. Glen is smiling, "how love-dovey of you." Now he's frowning, " I want a girlfriend." Then Maggie, the blonde, is rubbing her friend's back, incredulous of the mood swing.

Sam barks a laugh, "we're not actually dating." I hear an edge to his tone, and I find myself wondering (hoping) it's regret or things along that line.

Maggie was gaping immediately, "you're not? I swore you guys were the cutest teenagers." I blush harder, looking exasperated, and Sam is nearly losing it, laughing so hard. Glen is laughing too, quick to drop his sudden depression. _Is he ADHD?_

I don't have time to question this because the door opens. In steps another man, this one with a long face like Simmons, but he looks purely mature, and motions for us to follow.

* * *

><p>"All right, here's the situation: You've all had direct contact with the NBEs," the mature one said - and I heard Simmons call him Banachek, an odd name - flanked by Simmons and a few more suits. Behind and to the other side of us was a group of military men, decked out in regulation suits. The Hoover Dam stood tall over us, and walking alongside its canal seemed far away from the lake party just yesterday.<p>

"NBEs?" one military man questioned, he was tall with dark chocolate skin, and overall handsome.

"Non-Biological Extraterrestrials. Try and keep up with the acronyms," Simmons lightly explained, a slip of that holier-than-thou sneaking out. The military man growled, but a man who seemed to be his leader warned him lowly, "Epps."

"What you're about to see is totally classified," Banachek warned us, pushing open doors. Sam led me in first, clasped hand by way of direction. Maggie and Glen followed us closely, looking around in either curiosity or for an escape.

I was totally for the later.

The room itself was huge, filled to the brim with tech and catwalks and hazmat suits. Said suits were marked with 'S7' and reported to each other every three seconds. But in the midst of this was the _classified_: it was a Transformer, tall and silver, it structure resembling skeletal bone structures, and I tried to remember where I'd seen him before.

Oh, _sh-t_. I caught Sam's widened eyes, knowing he'd come to the same conclusion.

The Secretary of Defense, Keller, was amazed, and so were his soldiers, "My god, _what _is this?"

Banachek went on to explain, holding up a gesturing hand to the metal giant, "We think when he made his approach over the North Pole - our gravitational field screwed up his telemetry. He crashed in the ice, probably a few thousand years ago… We shipped him here to this facility in 1934."

Simmons seemed only too happy to jump in, "We call him NBE-One."

"Well, sir, I need to correct you," Sam stated, I pull a disgusted face at the frozen enemy, "that's Megatron: He's the leader of the Decepticons." That got us looks, and even Banachek himself had wider eyes, if only by a little.

"He's been in cryostasis since 1935," the agent continued, then turned to Sam, "Your great-great-grandfather made one of the greatest discoveries in the _history of mankind_."

"Discovering alien races, it runs in the family."

You could hear a pin drop.

Sam's bust out into laughter, Glen following nervously and Maggie giving into giggles. I dryly smile, getting a chuckle from Epps and his leader and a few of the men; Keller smiles and Banachek tiredly sighs.

"Fact is," Simmons clears his throat, "you're looking at the source of the modern age. The microchip, lasers, spaceflight, cars, all reverse-engineered by studying him. NBE-One." He leans into Sam's direction and states this, "That's what we call it."

"Not what the giant alien that peed on you calls it," I called up the memory on purpose, and he turned red. "Get it right, or go play with your toys." The group around us offered chuckles.

"Boy, you keep a leash on her," Simmons growled. Sam simply grinned, "it takes more than a leash to hold her horses, _sir_." The last part was mocking.

"Oh," I say, "you're not getting off the hook either. I haven't got nearly enough teasing in for that." That little black box – what's Sam's fantasy? I'm teasing it out of him.

"Huh?" Sam asks. I give him a look and motion to right near us, but in Megatron's direction, and imperceptibly, he nods.

"You know I get pretty rough, so you might have to pull out the _chains_," I push myself forward, emphasizing my breasts against his chest, getting a stuttering Sam and red-faced Simmons in the mix. Epps and Lennox, as I heard Keller just call him with a scolding look, are both bursting at the seams with snickering. Maggie and Glen are looking at me in a new light. Not a good one, I'm sure, but a new light never the less.

Sam frowns offhandedly, amusement dancing in his eyes, "I told you to stop with that. You're going to scar the kids with this _adult_ talk." That statement gets the surrounding agents to look at us.

I look around dramatically, "sorry, honey. I'll send them off to bed." I look to everyone else, shooing them off, "you heard him – I don't get to play till you leave." This leads to a whole new round of laughter.

Keller shakes his head, the epitome of a disappointed senior citizen, then addressed the still gaping S7 agents, "And you didn't think the United States military might need to know that you're keeping a hostile alien robot frozen in the basement?" But I'm too busy looking at the pretty pictures.

"Until these events, we had no credible threat to national security," Banachek says to excuse himself.

Keller promptly scoffs, "Well, you got one now." _What's 'Project Iceman'? Wait – 'Captain Witwicky'? Ohh, I get it._ The militia has long replaced their seriousness, and Lennox asks _the_ question, "So why Earth?"

"The Allspark," I say cheerfully, Sam looking around all of a sudden. "It's a source of power."

Keller looks to the two of us, "'Allspark'? How powerful? And why exactly do they want it?"

"I have reason to believe it birthed the Transformers," I say, and this is true - I've been thinking about it for a while actually, "and this theory is cemented by Megatron's risky behavior. They're an intelligent race – he would have calculated the earth's gravitational fields. It's possible he ignored it just for the Allspark's sake, a near suicidal mistake."

"Does that mean-" Maggie begins gravelly, and Sam nods:

"The Allspark is what they want. And they'll try to kill us all to get it."

"Are you sure about that?" Simmons questions as the atmosphere leans towards the heavy side.

Sam holds up his prize, a folder snuck off one of few desks in front of Megatron. He was within reach when I started flirting, and with my eyes I asked him to get it. He and I had finished flipping through it when Keller called attention to himself. "As sure as I know you have the Cube in your possession."

Simmons and Banachek blanch in their surprise. They can get used to being this pale.

"Follow me," Banachek requested.

Sam left the folder behind, and took my hand again.

* * *

><p>"Take me to my car." Sam demands as Lennox and Epps load up at the nearest table. Keller and Maggie are convulsing with Banachek, the lights above flickering momentarily, but long enough to draw eyes. Simmons is loading up too, but Sam has approached.<p>

He spares a glance at us, "Your car? It's confiscated." He made it sound like a dead deal.

"Yeah," I say, "no sh-t, Sherlock – _un_confiscate it. Right now." I get a look from Lennox, and his eyebrows raise in question. One I answer with a roll of my grey eyes. Epps follows with the suddenly approaching leader, Lennox's hand already at his side.

"We do not know what will happen if we let it near this thing!" Simmons argues, grabbing at the ammo. I've already taken a look around, but no munition for my pretty Malleus. "He might pee on you again," I mutter as I check the room twice, loud enough to get a growl from the elder man.

"So maybe you know, but I don't know."

Sam's had it, "and you're just going to sit here while there's a good chance Bee can get it in the right hands? Seriously?" I note the others confusion at who Bee was and I mouth 'the car', getting enlightened nods in return.

"I have people's lives at stake here, young man," Simmons growls at Sam, as if he'll be pardoned for any choice. Lennox, in close range, grabs Simmons in a complicated hold and slams him on the hood, a gun pointed at his face, "take him to his car!"

Simmons pales, again, hands up in surrender. "Whoa, whoa." But Lennox's guys have moved, and the S7 agents have guns pointing at them as they point their own. Banachek echoes Simmons, hands up, "whoa, whoa guys."

Keller only calmly watches, the man's lips twitching upwards. Knew there was a reason I liked him.

"Drop your weapon, soldier. There's an alien war going on and you're gonna shoot me?" Simmons says.

Lennox presses the gun farther into his head, "You know, we didn't ask to be here."

Simmons tries another road, "I'm ordering you under S7 executive jurisdiction-"

"Okay!" I say, loudly cutting him off, and Sam lets go of my hand, almost knowingly. I walk closer into the stalemate, nodding my respect to the soldiers. They nod back, exasperated. "You know, S7 doesn't exist, right? So technically, neither do you? They don't have to answer to the air."

Lennox shoots me a respectful glance.

But then I reach under my sweatshirt, pulling out Malleus. As he shows, many eyes widened, Glen and Simmons both gaping. They never expect the girl to armed, do they?

"So, I've got a question," safety off, right at his temple; I'm getting a look from Lennox and Epps, but Sam is folding his arms, waiting, "if I kill you, a person who technically doesn't exist – will I get in trouble?" I let myself smile widely, my eccentric side bubbling up and hovering just behind it.

"Cause if I don't, that'll be great." Malleus clicks against his temple; Simmons is actually sweating, cursing under his breath, "you wouldn't get away with this."

"Would I? You _don't exist_." I remind him of his words, and he pales significantly. "So?"

"I-I'm going to count to three-" Simmons stutters out.

"I'm not going to count at all – you say no," I start, pressing it harder into his temple, "I say goodbye."

Maggie calls my name, but it falls short in this drastic change in my behavior, "C-Cael." Lennox and his men have long since put down their weapons, sort of transfixed by me, as well as the S7 agents. Right now, me and Simmons are starring in this scene like an exert from a gangster movie. My eccentric side is grinning under me, writhing like a Wraith.

"Stormy," Sam comes up behind me, arms reaching around me, "I know: we're both really worried about Bee, but killing him wouldn't be the best course." He takes my arms away, coaxing my hand to flip on the safety. **Click!** "Thank you."

I pout, he can see right through me – I'm trying to get to our creature, not really satisfying my eccentric side like it was supposed to appear. Bee was the third person to ever protect me when he had no reason to in the beginning. I'm repaying him in effort, ten-fold.

"But with that said," Keller starts, approaching. He lays a hand on my shoulder, smiling like a conspirator, "I'd do what she says. Losing's really not an option for these guys."

"Or anyone," Sam says, "Megatron has no reason to destroy us, but killing us is icing on his big cake."

Lennox muttered under his breath, "he sounds like an icing sort of dude."

This dam tour's gonna end. Simmons is breathing again, watching me like a prey that escaped the predator, _d-mn tour guide._

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading! I know you've noticed the OC taking a darker turn, but she was dark from the beginning. I had a person ask why she's that way, and I told her the truth: None of my characters are perfect, I mean. Stormy's got a mental issue. Great - at least she's not a Mary Sue.<strong>

**Besides, what kind of character do you think I'd come up with? My mother (who reads) expected three descriptive and bloody massacres by now.**

**Insanely yours,**

**Mindight Mouse**


	6. Hammer To The Ground

**-6-**

**Hammer To The Ground**

I leaned out the window as the wind ripped my hair back to our following traffic – the traffic disturbed by a nasty looking Decepticon and a disgruntled Optimus. The bad guy had an extra limb, the claw opening when it pounced at the Peterbilt, but I wonder if Prime will leave anything distinguishable left…

I'm just saying he looked annoyed. That's all.

"How's it look back there?" Sam calmly asks. He's at the wheel to keeping up appearances; the van next to us looks at me weirdly, the two adults wide eyed at my uncaring posture. I don't blame them - I _am_ leaning out of the car, with no seatbelt in sight.

"I can't see either," I report as I slip completely back inside, the switch from wild hair to dormant tangles amazing to say the least. "They went over the side."

"Five on Optimus."

"Not much of a bet: I was going to put money on him, too." I start, glancing his way, "but it's not technically a battle when there is already a clear winner."

I run a hand through my hair, the sensation becoming painful quickly as my digits get caught in knots. Frustrated immediately, I settle with glancing at the travel size Allspark, buckled into Bee's backseat. "He'll join us in a minute. But I wonder if the extra limb made it any more fun."

"Of course," Sam laughs, "if it's not fun you won't fight." D-mn straight.

"You should be proud of how funny you are," my mouth moves without my neurons connecting completely, my knees rubbing together as I straighten my pants, "if you hadn't been able to make me laugh I would've held back my muffins."

Sam looks at me, exasperated and surprised, "your _what?_"

"Muffins." I nonchalantly repeat, and then perk as the skyline comes into view; Mission City's tall structures growing from the earth like metal redwoods, "there's our finish line."

* * *

><p><em>"You said the dam holds the energy… What kind of energy exactly?" Maggie asked as we looked through the window at the very artifact that brought this war. The Cube was beyond huge, and I could even see it towering over Optimus and the others.<em>

_The artifact had yellow contrasting walkways practically glued to its sides, S7 agents walking up and down with clipboards and radiation scanners, the alien markings repeated in ink on several of their papers. A lot also converged on the floor, though: several were hauling in boxes on pallets and official looking suits were shouting orders and pointing._

_The room the group of us were in was separated from the Allspark by glass. It was a study of some sorts, styled like a rich man's fancy escape with ebony furniture and tall bookcases and photos in black and white. It all was contrasting sharply with the scene just beyond the window. I stood stock still next to Sam as he listened in on Maggie and Glen's quiet discussion of the signal that they detected._

_But Banachek looked pointedly at Simmons when Maggie questioned this aspect. "I'm glad you asked; follow me, please." Simmons catches my eye, and I narrow my gaze._

_Sam pulls me out of it by tugging on my hand as the room empties into the long hallway, "Stormy, you know, when I got Bee, I wasn't expecting to be thrown into a war."_

_"Who would've?" I intoned, looking around as Simmons followed us out, closing the door. He remained at least three feet away, trying to find anything but us to stare at. "They don't have these warning labels, Sam."_

**_But wouldn't that have been interesting to see?_**

_"I know, I know," he dismisses the subject with a hand pinching his nose. We walk in silence, the group in front of us just as quiet except for the odd comments made by either Glen or Lennox. Simmons coughs behind us._

_"I'm glad I got into the car with you," I say, my voice loud in the otherwise silence. A few of the group in front of us look back when I say that, Glen and Maggie both still in deep conversation. "I could've done without the Decepticon running at us and screaming about __**Ladiesman217**__, but…" I don't know who it was, but that was a really loud snort._

_"It was a typo – I ran with it." He defended himself, shaking his head._

_"You really shouldn't have," I say, a grin resting on my lips. "It's a lame name, Ladiesman."_

_"You didn't seem to mind - sitting in Ladiesman's lap for __**that long**__," he retorts. Another loud snort reaches our ears and someone shushes said snorter harshly._

_"It was very comfortable," I admitted, gripping his arm with both of mine, getting him to blush again. It always sends my pulse racing when he blushes because of me, makes me feel just a bit more powerful._

_"I felt surprisingly safe with you. You were a lot calmer then me. And when you said to, getting in the car just seemed like the right choice." Lennox exchanges a glance with Keller and Epps after they snuck a glance in our direction._

_Sam has changed since that moment that day. You could easily tell, too. It was all in the way he held my hand after all: Before, he clenched it tightly with all of his fear, a painful grip for me, but reminding him that this was real. He looked at me to get affirmation, like he was hard of hearing and sight, not quite accepting this conflict._

_Now he grips my hand with only just enough pressure to remind __**me**__ that he's here, that this is real. He watches me from his peripheral with caution, waiting for my next move so he can move with me like satellites, always attracting. He's conscious of the bad and the good now, but he's taking it all in strides._

_He's much more of a man now. I blush when this registers, but I only hold his arm tighter, burying my face into his arm like an embarrassed schoolgirl._

_But it's when we're watching the Cube's energy turn a Nokia into a demonic Finnish samurai that I realize that Sam meant a lot more to me than anyone before. And it's only been a day since I've met him._

_Terrifying._

* * *

><p>I sneak a peek as I settle further into Bee's side, Lennox's voice loud as he shouts out orders to the soldiers getting out of the trucks. Sam hasn't physically changed at all, even leaning on Bee's hood like two days ago, but it's the way he acts that highlights a whole different looking teen.<p>

When he surveys the scene, the caution darkens his eyes to almost never-ending pools of shadows, his hands always seemingly ready to move and his posture bracing for impact. It makes him look sort of like Lennox or Epps – ready for the inevitable war.

"You two," Lennox calls over, Sam sends me a look before reaching out with his hand. I take it, folding into him - what seemed like the most natural position for us both now. When we're in front of the soldier he looks us over seriously, "so we got out a signal to the Air Force" yay "and they're sending helicopters." Not yay.

"The Decepticons are coming. _Now_." I remind him, "Megatron'll just shoot them out of the sky. Or send a lackey to do the same."

"The Autobots will hold them off for you," Lennox continues pointedly. I realize that he knows that it'll be hard for the helicopters to get here, let alone survive. But he's putting his faith in his fellow soldier, something I've never done, with the exception of yesterday and today.

"For… who?!" Sam is just as surprised, letting go of my hand and gesturing wildly to himself, "I'm not a soldier! I'm not like you – I _can't_ do this!" I know he's freaking out over the pressure – one thing can go wrong and it'll be considered his fault.

Lennox quickly slams him into the truck, getting his growls really close to Sam's ear, "you are now. Cael, take Jazz with you – I've got a bad feeling about this. We need the power, you get the skill." He lets Sam go, notifying Jazz, who nods.

I stand to the side, pulling Malleus out in a calming movement. Then the gifts Epps gave me before we headed out from the Dam: three whole magazines that'd work for Malleus, he had a grim face when he gave them to me. Our soldiers seem to worry a lot more than normal ones.

I replace the depleted one before clicking the safety on, but not moving to put it back in its resting spot, "Sam, even if we don't have the stamp or the badge or the training, we're soldiers. And d-mn good ones."

Sam breathes in once, holding his expression of contempt before releasing it, his face forming into a determined man's. I feel my breath catch at his sudden resolve, and I turn to Epps, who nods imperceptibly. _Time to go…_

* * *

><p>"Air Force?" I ask, as the jet soars above us, closer to the buildings than <em>I<em> would ever dare. Epps tries the radio again as Lennox and Sam trail the metal bird with their eyes. When it turns, however, I get a clear look of the entire thing. Close enough to distinguish the markings I swore were a trick of the light.

They weren't. And guess what?

_Alien_ markings.

I'm not the only one, because Ironhide moves immediately, yelling, "It's Starscream!" _Definitely a baddie_.

I race for the truck Lennox came in, waiting on its flank with Sam following close behind. Bee helps his comrade lift an adjacent Furbie truck, the fuzzy toy face tilted at an angle as Lennox shouts for us to brace.

Sure enough, Starscream shoots a pair of missiles: one hitting only the ground, but one throwing Bee from his spot, into a building with a booming crash. The wave of released energy knocks a bunch of us on our behinds, me included. The dust kicks up all about us, and I can't see anyone.

"Stormy?" I can hear Sam – thank Heaven that he's still alive.

"Sam? Sam, where's Bee?" I knew he was behind me, so he might've seen where our creature landed, but I can only barely see inches in front of me. I move to get up and away when I hear him yelling Bee's name, anguish evident. Oh, hell.

The dust clears just enough for me to see Bee, a Bee without legs, struggling to sit himself upright. My heart breaks for him when he moans what assumedly is his pain. Sam was focused on pointing out a spot for him to sit, worry clouding his eyes and wounds already appearing, but he spots me out of the corner of his eye.

I ignore Lennox's roll call, his orders to get down, scrambling through the new ruins to reach my two boys, "Bee! _Sam!_" Malleus, laying prone next to my form, was quickly returned to my holster.

"Come on, Bee," Sam pleads to the robot, "get up. You gotta get up."

"Sam," I grab his arm, "he can't – we've got to find a way to get him out of here." It's way too early for our creature to get knocked out of the fight, but that missile was a lucky b-tch. Lennox calls for Sam again, and he pauses.

I turn to him, "Sam, go. I'll get Bee out of here, okay?"

"I don't want to leave you here," he admits, "you're going to get hurt."

_Still thinking for me and mine?_ I smile, "if anything, I'm leaving. Bee's gotta be out of the Decepticon's reach. They seem to be the type to kick you when you're down."

"Sam!" Lennox is joined by Epps.

"Cael," he sighs. I stepped closer, cutting him off, "I'm _really_ glad I got in the car with you. Don't die, okay?"

He lets himself smile for the moment, "no, I won't. As long as you won't. I think I owe you a first date at the very least."

I giggle, "yes, because discovering alien races is totally a second date thing. Jeez, Sam, you're so _forward_." And this time, when Lennox calls him, Sam races over, sparing me what could be a last glance.

Fear trickles down my spine at that, but with a pained squeak from Bee, I smile. I won't be weak, not for giant robots, not for a miniature war. It's then I spot a tow truck, a man getting out of it and looking at the scene in horror.

"Be right back, Bee. Jazz! With me!"

* * *

><p><em>"Epps?" I was curious as to why the large man stood before me. I was just about to slip into Bee with Sam listening to last minute advice with Lennox, the Cube under one arm.<em>

_The soldier smiled, "things'll get rough, quick." A bunch of soldiers listen for their orders, moving about the room with set-in-stone expressions. S7 agents scatter quickly, worry and fear evident on all of their faces._

_"I'm not going to lie and say I'm ready," I admit to him, "but I'll do what I can. And make sure 'what I can' is helpful." He nods, as if he knew that's what I'd say. He then reaches behind him, pulling out three long magazines._

_"Are those-?" I asked in wonder._

_"Bullets for a berretta? Yes." He says, handing them to me, face stiff and warning, "make sure you protect yourself."_

_I laugh, "you better not be saying that because you think I'm a weak little girl."_

_"If I learned anything it's that there's more than meets the eye," he argues. "For one – girls are a lot scarier than guys with guns. And that Simmons p-ss-d himself."_

_We both laugh._

* * *

><p>"Banzai, M-TH-RF-CK-RS!"<p>

Lennox could only watch us as the tow truck I "borrowed" zoomed past, pulling off a very impressive swinging turn I learned from Bee, the Autobot Bumblebee attached to the other end with wires. Bee loaded a gun and fired. Multiple times and downing the tank creature all over again. Jazz dances behind us on light metal feet, aiming for the overhead Starscream.

Sam, who I could spot three blocks away, turned once before heading off again. Seeing us, Ironhide roared in victory and Ratchet face palmed. But then Sam's guards returned to the task at hand.

As would I.

I put the pedal to the metal, the stick in reverse as Bee reloads, letting his hail of ammo go flying at the space ace b-st-rds. My ecstatic madness, having found comfort just beneath the edge of my control, spilled over, and I laughed with the first wave of insanity. Jazz blinks owlishly at my sudden change.

Bee spares me only a cursory glance.

"Get it!" I yell happily, and as another Decepticon comes into view, Bee shoots, and it dodges to the side, landing parallel to the compound me and Bee. I rip Malleus out and aim for the optics, two bangs and two sounds of metal ripping into metal, the rewarding screech of pain pleasing me immediately. "Bee!"

Bee takes him out with a swing of a gun; the poor baddie only went through a little pain before the body stopped twitching. But as another lands on the ridge of a skyscraper to the front of us, helicopter blades dropping to its back, my grin grows.

And so does my insanity.

Jazz and Bee exchange a glance.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Please review if you want to - I loved the reviews I received so far.<strong>

**A shout out to ****CutiePaw, HeartsGuardianSol, Jimmy 144, TFSTARFIRE, and KayleeChiara for both reviewing and letting me know that my stories aren't as awful as I thought. (Special shout out to Jimmy 144 - you're awesome.)**

**Insanely yours,**

**Midnight Mouse**


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